


He Probably Should've Just Put on the Red Hoodie and Called it a Night, But He's Kinda Glad He Didn't

by BlackDeviouseRose



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Bruises, Clothed Sex, Crying, Crying During Sex, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Feminization, Hickies, Lance in a Skirt, Lots of biting, Love Bites, M/M, Praise Kink, Smut, a bit of langst thrown in there, a bit of self-deprecation, cuz let's be honest Lance would def do that, lmao will i ever stop, the answer is no, this is a lot more feely than it needs to be :/, what have i done to my bois
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 08:21:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8571292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackDeviouseRose/pseuds/BlackDeviouseRose
Summary: “Lance,” Keith says, soft, and it’s only the years of hearing that tone of voice in every way possible that has Lances tension blowing away, has him leaning towards Keith with half-lidded eyes, “did you dress up like that for me?”
He flinches away, face burning bright, and ignores the way Keith’s fingers are curling around his own, the way his palm settles hot and heavy in his hands. Figures Keith would get straight to the point, no beating around the bush required, the asshole. He doesn’t get how he can be so straightforward like that. He contemplates making a break for it, but settles for nodding shakily instead, figuring the damage is already done.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i fall more in love with lance every time i see him.
> 
> also, this kind of plays on the idea of lance liking the idea of wearing a skirt and acting more feminine, but being too scared abt it cuz he thinks it's wrong so?? yea.

He wasn’t sure how, exactly, he got himself into this situation – not that he was really complaining, no, only that he couldn’t help but feel slightly bewildered, perhaps a little miffed.

He stares himself down in the mirror, lets his eyes roam over the contours of his face, down the smooth skin of his stomach, the long stretches of his legs, and feels his face flush with embarrassment and perhaps something a little more. He lets out a near silent huff, contemplates just stealing one of Keith’s hoodies, and paces the small space in front of the mirror somewhat anxiously.

This is the first time he’s done something like this, and so far, he’s not sure what to think.

He never would have contemplated the thought of doing this on his own, no, and so he only had Keith to thank for his current predicament. Beautiful, brilliant, mullet-man Keith.

Keith, who had whispered his wants in his ear, smoothed his hand down his back, grinded his palm against his ass, and made Lance feel like the world. Keith, who had such an intense, fiery look in his eye – _a passion_ – and had littered his neck in bites and bruises with filthy words.

He groans in embarrassment, settles down on the bed, and curses how he likes the way his tan legs feel bared. Keith will probably laugh at him, the asshole.

He glances back at the nightstand, eyes the innocent looking already-opened bottle settled there – tries not to focus on other slick feeling between his legs – and briefly decides whether he wants to just change clothes and pretend this never happened or wait it out. He has some time before Keith comes home, and as the anxiousness curls in his stomach he can’t help but want to take advantage of that luxury.

It’s not like Keith knew what he was doing, anyway.

Mind halfheartedly made up, he pushes himself off the bed and stalks towards his closet, pulling it open to rifle through Keiths hoodies. He’s sure one of them will fit him; he doesn’t know why the asshole has so many of the damn things.

He’s pulling out some, putting away others, and finally decides on the red one with the winking cat face on the front – that Lance himself had bought for Keith, early on in their relationship when he hadn’t known Keiths size – when the door to his bedroom is pushed open.

He freezes, panic rising in his throat – feels a smattering of sweat building on his temple – and resists the urge to look back. He’s hoping, desperately, that it’s just one of the cats.

“…Lance?” he hears Keith say, a bewildered and slightly concerned undertone in his voice, and Lance tries not to melt in a shameful pile of his own humiliation. He needed to play this off.

He forces a smile on his face, a wobbly, slanted, embarrassed one, and turns to Keith as cockily as he can.

“Mullet-man!” he says, “you’re home early!”

His voice is just slightly hysterical, and he can’t bring himself to look directly at his partner, eyes darting around every corner of his room and flinching away from the nightstand.

“What are you wearing?” Keith asks, still surprised, the concern melting away for something else to take its place.

“U-Uhh,” Lance replies, waving his hands around – which are still clutching Keith’s hoodie – and chattering nervously, “That’s a good question! Yep, you’re always full of good questions mullet-man and, uh, yeah, so y’know, I’d really love to stay and chat, but, uh, I was just about to take a shower and change, so, uhh,”

He’s inching his way towards the bathroom and laughing nervously, shame still curled high on his cheekbones, when he’s stopped by a hand curling around his wrist.

“Lance,” Keith says, soft, and it’s only the years of hearing that tone of voice in every way possible that has Lances tension blowing away, has him leaning towards Keith with half-lidded eyes, “did you dress up like that for me?”

He flinches away, face burning bright, and ignores the way Keith’s fingers are curling around his own, the way his palm settles hot and heavy in his hands. Figures Keith would get straight to the point, no beating around the bush required, the asshole. He doesn’t get how he can be so straightforward like that. He contemplates making a break for it, but settles for nodding shakily instead, figuring the damage is already done.

Keiths other hand comes up to rest just below his eye, thumb rubbing patterns into his skin, and he can already feel his traitorous body unclenching, leaning against the touch. How dare Keith be so fucking perfect like that – be such a good boyfriend.

Keith leans forward to press a kiss to his cheek, just under his eye, and Lance’s heart melts in his chest, so far gone for this boy. His hand flutters nervously around Keiths palms, against the soft material of the hoodie.

Keith is pushing him back, gently, towards the bed, and Lance allows him with a nervous chuckle. He doesn’t know what to think of this situation, honestly. He hadn’t really expected Keith to react like this.

He’s being lowered down, Keith settling between his legs, and being kissed gently, softly, and he swears he can see God because there’s no way he’s not dying right now. He whimpers.

“You look so pretty Lance,” Keith tells him, eyes hooded, fingers trailing the seams of his legs, the stretch of his stomach, “how could you be so pretty?”

Lance whimpers, eyes blown wide, and feels his shame being steadily replaced with arousal, curling hot and heavy in his stomach and up his chest. He can feel his flush trailing from his ears down his neck, following the path Keiths fingers left, and his fingers claw at Keiths chest.

“How did you even get your hands on this?” Keith murmurs, “it fits you so good.”

That wasn’t quite true, in Lances own opinion. He had bought the outfit on the web at 3am, on some shady-looking sight that had somehow found its way on his radar, sleep eluding him with the rambunctious, inescapable, energy of his own mind, and found checking off each box with a bated breath. He remembers hiding the package away when it arrived, remembers avoiding its nook for months as he worked up the courage to finally try it on. Remembers how much he liked the way it felt on him.

The skirt, a blue, soft pleated material, fell far too short on his long legs, obviously made and fitted for a woman, while the white, soft shirt adorned with a blue ribbon stretching loosely over his chest – where _breast_ should be – felt far too baggy, hanging too low. The white stockings he had ordered separately fell short just below his knees, stretched as much as they could be. He couldn’t help but feel he didn’t pull off the look as well as someone else might, and that’s where his embarrassment and shame came from.

He covers his face with his hands, silently begging Keith not to look because he just _can’t._

“Lance,” Keith says, tugging on his fingers loosely, “Lance, you’re so beautiful…I’m so lucky that I can call you mine…”

Lance whines, curling into himself, happiness and embarrassment and pleasure coiling through him like a snake about to strike. He remembers how it used to be, remembers how they were in the beginning of their fumbling relationship, remembers how everyone – including themselves – were convinced they would crash and burn. How they fought and loved and held words above each other like weapons.

_‘I’m so lucky that I can call you mine,’_ Keith had said, but it was Lance who was lucky, because Lance, somehow and someway, won the favor of a man sought after so heavily in the Garrison. Of someone so beautiful, and perfect, and amazing, and _Keith._

“Keith,” he whines, high and keen, and Keith leans forward to brush kisses over the back of his hands, still trying to tug them away.

“Let me see you Lance,” he says, “let me see how pretty you look in this outfit.”

And Lance obeys because he doesn’t think he could deny Keith anything, after all they’d been through. He pulls his hands away, lets them fall to his sides, and tries not to look at Keith, whose staring him down fiercely. He can feel tears pricking the corner of his eyes, which wasn’t uncommon in situations such as this. He was a crier in everything – especially sex.

Keith pushes a kiss onto him, licks his bottom lip delicately, and Lance feels the tears fall.

It’s all too much – they’ve barely begun, and yet he felt like he was drowning. He was hot and flushed and his arousal was only gaining momentum as time went on.

Keith is trailing his fingers all over his body, heavy pets across his legs, his stomach, teasing under his shirt. His kisses have turned fierce and hard, wet, and Lance lets his eyes close, his mouth fall open as he lavishes in Keiths attention.

They were both so different behind closed doors.

Lance, who was cocky and confident and loud, is so easily brought to his knees by just a few choice words, can’t help but love not having to be the one in control – loves being pushed around and told what to do, not having to use his long limbs, and obvious masculinity to be on top. Their love isn’t a competition even though most everything else of theirs is, and he takes comfort in that, takes comfort in that Keith understands and doesn’t look down on him for it, that Keith even _loves_ him for it. Keith, who is usually so quiet, so withdrawn, who showers him with praises, isn’t afraid to say what he wants, is fierce and powerful in his love. Keith, who loves chocolate, and flowers, and Lance speaking Spanish – dancing to cheesy romance songs, watching horribly cliché movies, becoming flustered at his lackluster cooking abilities, and will admit to Lance his own loneliness late in the night.

He loves Keith, and he is afraid of ruining what they have with his big mouth, his secret wants and desires.

“What’s wrong Lance?” Keith asks, frown tugging his lips and pulling back to look him over for signs of pain.

Lance hiccups, covering his mouth with his hands, and shakes his head.

“What’s wrong?” Keith insists, reaching out to hold his cheeks in his palms, “are you in pain?”

“No,” Lance says, a sob just underneath his words, “it’s just…isn’t it wrong?”

Keith’s brow furrows, he rubs his thumb along Lance’s lips, and he settles more carefully between Lances legs.

“What do you mean?” Keith asks, soft, and Lance wants to die.

“Isn’t it wrong for me to wear these clothes?” he asks, a little desperately, “Isn’t it wrong for me to enjoy it so much?”

Lance is a male, through and through. From the angles of his face, to his soft but still toned stomach, and right down to his brutally long legs. Sometimes he feels like there’s no room for him to be submissive, no room for him to be so…feminine.

Keith leans forward, presses kisses to his cheeks, his forehead, the tears falling from his eyes, and shakes his head.

“No Lance,” he says, against Lance’s lips, “it isn’t wrong. You’re allowed to enjoy whatever you want, and I will always love you regardless of what that may be. The only one who can decide what you can and can’t like is you.”

Lance sobs, covers his face again, and shakes against Keiths hold.

“Okay?” Keith asks, brushing his nose along his own.

“Yeah,” Lance nods back, and Keith smiles, a slow easy thing.

No more words are shared between them, but Lance doesn’t mind as Keith continues stroking and petting him anywhere and everywhere. Teasing along his skirt, tugging his stockings, pushing up his shirt – every inch of him lavished and loved, and he can feel himself dying in the best of ways.

Keith’s trailing his fingers over his thighs, up his skirt, while his mouth works brutal bites and bruises into Lance’s neck and down his chest. Lance cries out, twists and writhes in Keiths hold, and tries to worm his fingers under Keith’s shirt.

“No,” Keith murmurs, but that’s all he says as he pushes Lances hands away, and he whines.

He sits back and he takes it, takes the gentle and brutal ministrations with whimpers and cries until he’s quivering and drooling all over himself, mouth licked open and stomach covered in bites, his cock hard and throbbing in the space between them, and occasionally he can feel Keiths own cock rubbing against his legs. 

It’s too much.

“K-Keith,” he whimpers, tears still escaping him, and Keith smiles against his skin.

His fingers have made their way completely up his skirt now, and he freezes when he feels soft material. He pulls back, peers into Lance’s face – who is flushed, mortified, and shaking his head because _no, he forgot –_ before lifting the skirt up to look more properly.

Lance is wearing a pair of soft, blue panties, wrapping around his cock comfortably.

“Lance,” Keith groans, fingers trailing over his cock, outlining it, and Lance can’t help but grind up, panting messily.

Keith palms it, rough and heavy, and Lance fears he might come before Keiths fingers are suddenly pulling away, digging into his thighs.

“I want to fuck you,” Keith says, a growly sound, biting against Lances already bruised lips.

Lance nods, unable to say anything, and pants against the heavy weight of it all.

Keith really is too fiery sometimes, and he can’t help but wonder how he can even bare it.

Keith pulls away, reaching over to the nightstand, sending him a look when he notices the lube already prepared, and huffs a laugh.

“Eager aren’t we?” he murmurs, and Lance flushes.

“Asshole,” he mutters back, ignoring Keiths laugh.

Keith pushes Lance up on the bed, so his head is angled on the pillows instead of in the haphazard somewhat off-the-bed position they were in before, and tugs Lances bruised thighs apart. Lance can see how hard Keith is in his jeans, wants to tug them off and rub his cock, maybe suck it down, and he whimpers when Keith pushes his hands back down from where they were starting to reach for him.

Keith leans forward, pushes the panties aside, and hooks his thumbs to spread Lance apart. Lance sobs, the feeling of being opened like that too much, and twists the sheets in his hands.

He hears an inhale, feels his chest burning hot, and knows he’s as red as a tomato.

“I didn’t know you were this eager,” Keith says, to himself, pointer-finger sliding into Lance’s ass smooth and easy, with no resistance.

He had been hot off the idea all day, had made plans and preparations, and couldn’t help but finger himself earlier, the idea of Keith coming home and being able to fuck him immediately – just use him – too much to handle.

“Is it enough for me to..?” Keith starts, and Lance nods before he can finish his words because he knows he worked himself _good._

Keith groans, a muttered ‘holy fuck Lance’ falling from his lips, before he tugs his zipper down and pulls out his cock, slicking it up with a grunt. Lance is almost happy Keith stopped him from tugging off his jeans, likes the idea of being fucked with Keith’s clothes still on, and hooks his ankles around Keiths hips to bring them flush together. Keith shuffles forward so he can wrap his thighs around him completely, and gives himself a few strokes, his cock heavy and red. Lance can see how hard and desperate he is, can see it straining and jumping in Keith’s hand, and moans.

He’s bruised and bitten and hard and cherished, and he loves Keith so, _so_ much.

“Keith,” he says, licks his lips, blinks his eyes against another onslaught of tears, “fuck me.”

Keith stares down at him, shock on his face – because this was the first time Lance has _ever_ said those words, has ever given up his masculinity enough to do so – and nods.

He leans forward, Lances long, tan legs wrapped around him, and braces himself, hands on both sides of Lance. He buries his face in Lance’s neck, bites the skin there absently, and pushes himself past the panties and between Lance’s cheeks with a groan. Lance moans, feels the push, and relaxes himself, lets Keith in. Keith’s disgustingly beautiful mullet is all over his face, and he pushes his nose into the strands, hands clawing at Keiths back desperately. He wants more.

“Keith,” he whines, and Keith nods, pushes in and in and in until Lance is so full he might die, might explode. It’s good – this feeling of fullness, and as much as he used to like fucking girls, he’s gotta admit there’s nothing better than fucking boys.

Keiths reached as far as he can, his balls resting against Lance’s ass, and Lance feels so good, the stretch of it perfect, the pain wonderful. He could stay like this forever.

Keith is still biting his shoulder, pressing kisses there, and Lance is wet all over – his own drool covering his face, his hands, down his chest, and Keiths bite marks and saliva only add to the mess. Their sex is always messy like this, cum covered, and Lace hates how much he really, _really_ loves it.

He’s pulling back now, and Lance whimpers at it, at the way it rubs over him perfectly, how the fullness melts away, and how he wants Keith’s dick desperately back. He presses his ankles into Keiths back, and Keith takes the hint, attempting to settle into a rhythm of pull, push, pull.

Lance wraps his arms around Keith’s shoulders, is completely blanketed by Keith, and sobs against it all. It’s good, so good.

Keiths cock is thick, just the right length, and always drives into him so perfectly. His body is arching and being pushed even higher up the bed with the force of Keiths fucking, Keiths fingers digging into the meat of his thighs to hold him open, and Lance feels so far gone.

He realizes, belatedly, that they forgot a condom, and the thought only makes him hotter, makes him cry out with the thought of Keith staining his insides; and suddenly he wants Keith to come – wants Keith to fill him up completely.

“You’re good Lance,” Keith tells him, pouring praises over him like honey, “you’re tight and warm and perfect, made so perfectly for my cock.”

He knows Lance likes this, likes being told how good he is – that he loves being the center of Keith’s attention, that he loves being possessed by Keith, and Lance curses him for it.

Keith is digging in so good, his angle having changed, barely grazing over his prostate, and the teasing feel of it sends Lance sobbing. He takes Keiths praise, his bites, and his cock with a cry, eagerness and arousal and the need to be fucked curling around him so tight, and he wonders why it took him so long to wear these clothes in the first place.

His skirt is bunched around his hips, Keith having pulled it up so he can watch, his shirt is so high on his chest his nipples are on full display, and he has never felt so slutty in his entire life. It feels good, reminds him of how he felt pulling on the skirt the first time, how he’d been hard just opening the box.

“Good boy,” Keith tells him, “you’re such a good boy Lance, dressing up just for me, looking so sexy and slutty just for me,”

Keith is panting, red and flushed, his hair in disarray as his eyes flicker from between his thighs – where he can undoubtedly see himself forcing Lance open with his thick cock – and up to Lances crying face.

“Next time we fuck, we’re doing it in front of the mirror,” he continues, “so you can see yourself in that outfit getting fucked open, see your cock in your panties while I hold up your skirt, see your face as you drool my name, my dick forcing you open,”

Keith is talking endlessly, takes as much pleasure from the words as Lance does, and Lance whines because it’s really _too much_. His toes are curling, his back is arching, and he can’t last long – he just _can’t._

“I want you to come now, on just my cock,” Keith tells him, pushing the skirt up so he doesn’t have to hold it, palms his tummy, “and I’m going to cum inside you,”

Lance moans, keens, and nods his head rapidly. He wants that, he really, _really_ wants that. Keith grins, a feral thing, and pushes on his stomach – a gentle pressure that makes Keiths cock feel even thicker, makes him feel even fuller.

“Good boy,” he says, and Lance is coming, is splattering and drooling and screaming, his legs tightening around Keith as he sobs out Keith’s name.

He pants, sweat slicking his skin, making everything wetter, and lays back as he watches Keith continue to fuck into him. Keith always looks best like this, his eyes focused heavy on Lances spread ass, his mouth open and drooling as he keeps fucking Lances quivering body. He still feels good, still loves the feel of Keith inside him, and gladly lets Keith fuck him for several more minutes, lets him continue bruising his skin, pant his name, until he’s coming thick and heavy inside of Lance.

“Keith,” he whimpers, thighs trembling, overloaded, and Keith grins, thrusting through his aftershocks.

He pulls out, slow, and Lance moans as some of the fullness dissipates – the only thing left behind is Keiths cum, still heavy and thick inside of him. Keith hooks his thumbs around Lance’s hole, pulls it open, and watches his own cum seep out of Lance.

“I should take a picture,” Keith says, voice a little rough, and Lance huffs.

“Like we don’t have enough,” he says, but still smiles and stretches back against the bed.

“You don’t know how good you look like this,” Keith tells him, somewhat absently, as his thumb flick through the cum, almost pushing it back in “all stretched and stained and warm.”

Lance sighs and lets Keith do as he pleases, eyes heavy and tears still staining his cheeks, as he relaxes against their bed. He’s really tired, soreness and fullness clouding his mind, as he closes his eyes.

“’M gonna take a nap,” he murmurs, sleepily, and he feels Keith nod from where he’s begun biting Lances thigh again.

“Go to sleep,” Keith says, “I’ll take care of you,”

Lance nods, smiles, and relaxes completely. He realizes that Keith’s hoodie is settled next to him, wrinkled from where he had gripped it, and sighs.

He’s really glad he didn’t chicken out of this.

**Author's Note:**

> can you believe i wrote 3k words of pure sin?? cuz boy i can
> 
> i was totally gonna throw some omorashi in there, maybe some somnophilia, but managed to hold myself off. 
> 
> you're a lucky reader.
> 
> hmu up tumblr, we can talk klance-
> 
> dev-fiction.tumblr.com


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